Mush and the Magic Show
by SakiSaki
Summary: After inadvertantly insulting Mush's newfound dream to become a magician, Blink seeks to set things right with a little help from Les... and figure out what exactly a dream is good for, anyway. Written for Blink Week!


_Disclaimer: The newsboys you recognize belong, of course, to Disney, and not me and my poor brain. But Monsieur Montini is totally mine. Take that, Disney!

* * *

_

_Dream dream: even for a little while.  
Dream dream: filling up an idle hour.  
Fade away, radiate.  
__(Dreaming is free.)  
- _Blondie

The day Monsieur Montini's Magic Show came to the neighborhood was a day full of surprises.

The first surprise came quietly – silently, in fact.

Kid Blink's unmasked eye fluttered open and surveyed the room. There was something odd going on. No cane clopping up the stairs, no squeaking of floorboards (or mattress coils or mice in the walls), no shouting of names and groans of exhaustion. Just the occasional snore and sneeze from a roomful of sleepy newsboys.

This was very, very odd. The quiet hung thick and heavy in the air.

Blink felt a sudden fear grip his heart: what if Kloppman had died in his sleep? Surely that could be the only explanation for allowing them to sleep in so late. It wasn't a major holiday, and after a quick check out the window he could safely say the city hadn't been destroyed (in which case there would be no _World_ office and, therefore, no newspapers to sell), so what could this all mean? He couldn't even recall the last time he had felt his bed fully warmed by the rays of a rising sun – there had to be something seriously wrong here.

A shuffling to his right distracted him momentarily from the various images of a cold, dead Kloppman sinking through the earth of his thoughts. He rolled over, feeling the wrinkles of his pillow imprinted in his cheek, and saw Mush sitting up in his bed some ten feet away, clearly confused.

"What's going on?" he mouthed, running his fingers through the thick layer of curls on his head. Blink blinked, watching the bronze-colored hands with interest (they'd never been so back-lit by the sun), and stifled a yawn.

"I dunno," he whispered back. "Do ya think Kloppman's _dead_?"

Mush shrugged but looked alarmed by the thought. Then again, neither wanted to risk getting out of bed simply to investigate – let someone else deal with it. Jack was the elected leader anyway, so any sleuthing would have to be his responsibility. (Though judging by the volume of his snores, it would take Bumlets's stick cracked over his head just to stir him.)

Nine a.m. and all was quiet at the lodging house. The irregularity of the situation made Blink's heartbeat quicken beyond any possibility of further sleep, and so he sat up, draped his scrunched-up socks over the edge of the bed and dropped noiselessly to the floor. He liked how it felt both warm and cool against the bare soles of his feet.

Everything looked different in the late morning light. The room had a golden quality and every surface felt warm and comfortable – it felt a bit more like a home. Blink shivered and went to wash his face, a routine he preferred to keep private.

Carefully he lifted the worn leather material from his left eye, wiped the sweat off that had beaded beneath it overnight (the skin was always softer, moister there) and splashed water over the entirety of his face – a shock to the senses. Then, after gently patting it dry, he replaced the patch securely and turned around to get the shaving lather.

It clattered to the floor as he caught sight of Mush, standing silently near one of the stalls.

"What—you—were you watchin' me?" Blink demanded, struggling to keep his voice down. Mush's eyes widened a little and darted toward the floor, embarrassed.

"S-sorry Kid, I didn't mean to—I was just—I needed to take a leak, and, sorry." He attempted a smile and rushed back to bed.

Blink felt his face burning as he absentmindedly passed a hand over his eyepatch. He didn't want _anyone_ – not even Mush, his best friend – getting under there. It was his business; it was for his business. Friends or otherwise shouldn't interfere with either of those things, and he'd been an expert for years at keeping it his own.

Well, even if Mush _had_ seen anything – he knew Mush well enough to keep it confidential. If it wasn't his loyalty as a friend, then it was his natural disposition to be guilty over the slightest errors in etiquette. And anyway, he was just so goddamn _nice_. Blink shrugged it off and picked up the razor.

"Blink, hey Blink!" Crutchy more announced than greeted – a trait Blink found agreeable except within an hour of waking.

"Hey Crutchy." He brushed the lather over his jaw and up to his cheekbones, the foam cool and revitalizing on his skin. "So how's about this? It's gotta be, what, past nine?"

"This is _amazin'_, Blink, is what it is." Crutchy spread his arms wide open. "I never felt so good wakin' up in my whole life!"

"Shhh, keep it down, Crutch." He motioned to the rows of the still-sleeping and added, "Let 'em enjoy it for as long as they can." In truth, he was more concerned with keeping the boy's squawking voice as soft as humanly possible in order to stave off any kind of headache.

"Sorry, Blink, it's just that I can't take how _excitin'_ it all is, y'know? I can't figure it out! What's goin' on? Where's Kloppman?"

"Dunno, Crutch. Jack'd be the one to find out since he's so good at talkin' to Kloppman, but seein' how he's—"

"I sure do hope it ain't nothin' bad though," Crutchy interrupted in a fast-paced twitter. "Y'know how old Kloppman is."

Blink endeavored not to nick himself with the razor. "Yeah," he said absent-mindedly.

"Do ya? How old is he, exactly? I've always wondered that. Is he—"

"Crutch! My ears, Crutch. Please—"

"'Cause my gramps – before I got this bum leg and lived with my gramps – he must've been ninety or a hundred before kickin' it, but believe me, if you got on his bad side he could whip a belt like—"

"Say, how's about we wake up Jack now?" Blink wiped any remaining lather from his face and clapped his hands in resolution.

By this point, a few others had risen and were wiping the sleep from their eyes. Specs was entering one of the toilets, his suspenders hanging loosely around his legs, and Snoddy was filling the washing basin with cold water. The little ones yawned and stretched but were clearly excited; their faces reminded Blink of Christmas morning (the winter seemed so far away and he was glad).

He swore he caught Mush watching him from his bed, but as soon as Blink fully looked his way, both his eyes were securely closed. This made Blink a little sad, though he couldn't explain why. For a moment he was tempted to walk over there and apologize, but he had other tasks at hand that needed dealing with.

Peeking over the edge of the top bunk, he wondered how to approach the Waking Jack situation he'd gotten himself into. Normally, Blink had no problem with acting on impulse and making bold moves – such as taking a swing at a cop (in self-defense, of course) or picking up a girl's wayward handkerchief. But this was another thing altogether.

Crutchy materialized by his elbow and gave Blink a start. "Well? Ya gonna wake 'im up?"

"Yeah, yeah, hold yer pants up," he muttered, though he made no move to follow through with it. His hand hovered over Jack's shoulder, rising and falling with his steady breathing. Should he tap him? Shake him? Ease him out of it or yell in his ear? Which way was the best way to go about—

_CRACK!_

Skittery slammed his walking stick sharply against the bedpost, sending a now-very-alert Jack three inches off the mattress.

"Whoozzat? Whashappenin'?"

"You're welcome," Skittery said cheerfully to Blink as he crossed over to the bathroom.

"Uh, Jack," Blink held up his hands to prove they were empty of weaponry, "there's somethin' fishy going on around here, thought you might wanna—"

"What? Fishy? I haven't washed up yet, whatcha gettin' at…"

"No, no, Jack—" Blink tried to keep him from rolling over and falling back asleep. It seemed Jack had been up to something late last night and was regretting it now. "Jack, it's _Kloppman_, he hasn't woken us up yet and—"

"So why's you doin' it? We getta chance to get some shut-eye… damned Skittery… you and yer gabberin'…" Jack pulled the sheet over his head and attempted to induce unconsciousness again, but Blink grabbed him by the shoulders.

"COWBOY! IT'S NINE THIRTY IN THE MORNIN'! WHERE IS KLOPPMAN?"

He released his friend and hoped that had done the trick. If anyone else had been left slumbering until that point, they certainly were up and attentive now.

"Nine thirty?"

"Nine thirty."

"In the mornin' you said?"

Blink grabbed Racetrack's pocket-watch off a nearby night table and held it up to Jack's face.

"Where's Kloppman then?"

"That's what we've been wonderin'. We thought you should be the one to go and, y'know, find out what's behind all this."

Jack nodded, pushing the hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Okay." With that, he stumbled out of bed, pulled on his pants and made his way downstairs.

Blink stood there awkwardly, Crutchy on one side of him talking a mile a minute and Mush not-looking at him from across the room.

"Jack came in so late last night, I can't believe Kloppman still let him in, I could swear it was past midnight but, I dunno, maybe it wasn't… 'Cause I went to bed pretty early so I musta been all, what's the word? Dis… oriental… Well, y'know, confused, whenever it was he came in last night. He musta been drinkin' 'cause it seems like he's—"

"Nobody likes a snitch!" Skittery announced loudly (but to himself of course) with a pleasant smile on his face, rifling around for a clean pair of socks. Crutchy shrugged when something caught his eye and tottered over to where Snipeshooter was showing off his marble collection.

"Says who?" Snitch muttered nearby.

"Says I, I says!" Skittery glanced at Blink and added, "You're welcome."

"Ya sure are different when you've had the extra sleep, Skitts," Blink said with a blend of astonishment, approval and suspicion. Skittery whistled innocently as he changed his shirt, with (it was undeniable) a spring in his step.

A shiver nearly ran down Blink's spine, but he became distracted by Jack's sudden reappearance. He looked serious.

Immediately a crowd of newsboys formed around him, pressing the Cowboy with questions. A haggard-looking Race stepped in front of Jack, pushed back a few people and called for quiet.

"So what's dis all about, eh, Jack?" he asked finally. Blink leaned in so he could hear properly.

Jack slowly brought his eyes up from the floor and, with a dazed expression, murmured: "We's goin' to the fair."

* * *

With a belly half-full of bread and coffee, Blink could barely keep himself from skipping beside Race and singing until the sun set.

"We's goin' to the _fair_, the fair that only comes once a year! The street fair, the fair on the street with the games and the shows and, well, it's a bit like Medda's I bet – except it don't have Medda who's the best part of Medda's, but still – this is gonna be so great, dontcha think, Race? I can't believe we ain't workin' today, it's amazin'—"

"Blink, please, don't turn into Crutchy on me," Race muttered, fingers to his temples. "One Crutchy is enough for anyone."

"Ain't you excited though? I'm excited." Now Blink couldn't resist and actually started bouncing as he walked. The boys were all dressed in their best attire (that is, clothing with few stains and only one or two small holes in the knee or underarm areas) and many chose not to wear their hats, simply for a chance to walk around the city without being asked for the day's headlines. Kloppman led the group, his back straighter and his cane clacking faster against the cobblestones than usual.

"Is that it up there?" Blink asked no one in particular. "I think I see people!"

Race lit a cigarette; the circles beneath his eyes seemed to blacken. "There's people all over. This is New York, ain't it?"

"What's with ya, Race? Ya seem kinda glum. How can ya be in bad mood when there's so much to look forward to?" The shorter boy's glare indicated there would be no singing or skipping any time soon. "Sheesh. Whatever you and Jack got up to last night must've been tough."

"All's I can tell you is, stay outta Ching's in Chinatown." A cloud of smoke streamed forth from Racetrack's nostrils as he added, "On a Saturday night, anyway."

Blink decided he didn't want to know the why and the wherefore, so he promised to heed the advice and went over to where Mush was walking somewhat separated from the group.

"Hey, Mush."

The boy looked up but avoided Blink's eye. "Hey."

A moment of silence passed between them. When they spoke again, it was in unison.

"Look, Mush, I'm sorry for snappin' atcha earlier—"

"Sorry for spyin' on ya, I didn't mean nothin' by it—"

They both cut off their apologies and grinned. Nothing more needed to be said, really.

Blink threw his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Can you believe old Kloppman?"

"I know! I mean, I always thought he was a great old man, but this is like a miracle or somethin'."

"He says it don't cost nothin' either, that the mayor is puttin' this on free for the people and—"

Blink smashed into the boy in front of him who had suddenly stopped short.

"Ow! Specs, what're ya—" It seemed Specs was stopping to buy a paper off a young newsie Blink didn't recognize. The little one tipped his hat and ran off.

"Specs, we get one chance not to touch a pape for a day and you go buyin' 'em off others?" Skittery complained. Dutchy shook his head in disbelief.

"The only one I know who enjoys readin' the articles…"

"I just feel bad for the ones who can't afford to take the day off," Specs said in defense. "And anyway, I enjoy keepin' up with the news, with or without the job."

"We can't afford it either, really," Dutchy pointed out.

"But Kloppman said we don't gotta pay for lodging tonight, you heard 'im. 'What the hell, it's 1900, ain't it?' It's his treat, so we can swing it more than some of these other kids can."

"Ah, but look at it this way," Skittery interjected. "With none of us sellin' today, these kids get the chance to sell more papes 'cause there's less… less…" He opened and closed his hand as if trying to grab onto the word eluding him.

"Competition?"

"Yeah, 'at's it. There's less competition, so if these kids are smart they'll make enough to maybe skip the evening edition and go to the fair then. Yeah?"

The two bespectacled boys looked impressed. "That's not a bad idea," Dutchy admitted.

Blink stopped listening to the conversation when Mush suddenly broke out into a run.

"I can see it! Can ya see it, Blink? C'mon!"

Blink ran after his friend, weaving through the throng of New Yorkers going about their daily business. He was dimly aware that the last time he'd worn these clothes he'd been running from the bulls, on that infamous night at Medda's when he'd nearly lost his other eye. But that seemed years away right now (though it had really been only six months), and his heart pounded when he and Mush joined the gathering of people surrounding a boxing ring, serving as a makeshift stage.

There were people of all sorts around, from the middleclass housewives with nothing important to do (their husbands surely slaving away in an office somewhere) but entertain their children, to the poorest of street rats who needed the cheer (and recognized that a pick-me-up like this didn't come often – or hardly ever). Street merchants were clever enough to display their goods up and down the street, easily within reach of those with money to burn. Smiles abounded and that's what made Blink grin as brightly as he did that moment.

On stage were three clowns, each entertaining different groups of people. One of them was juggling a multitude of fruit and vegetables, another was balancing various items on his head while riding a unicycle, and the third was playing pranks on the audience, squirting water from the flower pinned on his jacket and telling a long and complicated joke about barnyard animals in a bar. A band off-stage played cheerful accompanying music.

Their act ended with a stunt involving all three of them doing acrobatic flips and jumps; the crowd laughed and clapped animatedly as they skipped off the stage and the moderator stepped into the ring.

"Must be a great job, bein' a clown," Blink yelled to Mush, even though they were side-by-side. Mush was still chuckling over the punchline of the barnyard bar joke and only nodded in agreement. Blink smiled at his friend, happy to see him so happy.

"…So without further ado, ladies and gentleman, please give a warm welcome to the one, the only, Monsieur Montini!"

There was a burst of colored smoke and suddenly the moderator was replaced by a larger man in a suit of midnight blue. He wore a tall top hat and a thick, bristly mustache that went up and down as he spoke; his voice boomed, tinged with a foreign accent Blink couldn't place.

"I am the great Monsieur Montini, and I am here to astound you!" He grinned mischievously to reveal a set of gold teeth; a few people gasped at the sight. With a flurry of his long, flowing cape, a black cane with a white tip appeared in his hand out of nowhere. Blink couldn't help but stare at the jeweled rings covering every one of his fingers.

"Before I begin, however, does anyone have change for a dollar? You sir," he pointed to a man in the crowd, "do you have two fifty-cent pieces by any chance?"

The man shook his head, embarrassed by the attention. Nevertheless, Montini bent down and snapped his fingers behind the man's ear. Immediately a shiny fifty-cent piece appeared – once, then again behind his other ear. The man looked shocked and Montini winked, handing him the coins; the audience clapped hungrily.

"That's what I call the One Dollar trick – only a trifle, only a trifle. Now, I shall require assistance from some kind lady. Who will help me?"

Several hands were raised, mostly from men volunteering their wives. He chose a shy thirteen-year-old girl whose face instantly reddened upon recognition; she was escorted up to the stage as Montini held up three large silver rings.

"Would you please inspect these rings, m'dear, and tell the audience if they are solid?"

The girl shakily did as she was told. She tapped them and even bit into one section, much to Montini's amusement, then handed them back and announced in as small voice, "They're hard as rock!"

"Thank you, m'dear." He wagged his cane, which Blink suspected was more of a wand, and a bouquet of flowers burst forth from the tip. The girl released a small shriek of surprise, accepted the flowers and rushed down from the stage, blushing furiously.

"Now, I like these rings very much, but they keep getting lost when they are separate. So I will endeavor to link them together – those who stay together are more whole than when they are apart, yes?" The crowd, mildly confused, murmured in the affirmative. "Very well, let me see what I can do then."

He took a velvet scarf and shrouded the hoops, waved his cane around and muttered an incantation in a foreign language. People leaned forward and stood on their tiptoes to get a better look. When he stopped speaking and uncovered them, the rings were still separate.

"Oh, blast, that one never works," he grumbled, and out of frustration smashed them against each other. Magically, the rings linked and formed a chain. Everyone jumped and cheered as he tossed the rings into the crowd (Blink was sure he saw Les catch them and tuck them into his shirt).

"I'm afraid I don't have much more time to spare – you see, my watch is broken and my days go faster than most." He seemed to materialize a large, over-sized pocket-watch from thin air; its arms were spinning rapidly and the audience laughed at the strangeness of this man.

"So I will finish up my act with A Very Special Trick," he continued, pocketing the watch and tweaking his mustache. The sun disappeared and Blink glanced up at the sky to see a gathering of clouds forming. "It is highly difficult, however. Can someone please assist me?"

To Blink's surprise, Boots was chosen from the crowd; he wasted no time in scrambling up on stage and beaming at the crowd.

"Thank you, young man," Montini said, patting Boots on the shoulder. "What is your name?"

"Boots."

He chuckled. "Young Boots, then." He placed a small table in the center of the stage and lay his hat atop it. "I'm afraid being the volunteer comes with a price. I need you to part with something you value."

Boots raised an eyebrow and gave his pockets a pat, but he had nothing. "Sorry sir, but I ain't got nothin' of value on me." Montini nodded gravely and turned to the crowd.

"Does anyone have anything that means something to them… that they would be willing to part with?" The crowd muttered and shook their heads, highly suspicious. "Please, I need your faith, my good people. For this trick to work, I need your faith."

"Hey, Race," Boots yelled, leaning over the ropes of the boxing ring at a wide-eyed Racetrack. "What about your cards?"

"Are you crazy?" Race demanded. "I ain't givin' that guy my only deck—"

"Please, young man," Montini beseeched, "I promise you, your generosity will not go unrewarded."

Race squinted up at him, no doubt trying to figure out the odds on this bet. Blink knew Race could never resist a gamble, especially one of this magnitude.

"Alright then," he muttered, fishing around in his pocket and tossing the beloved pack on stage. Jack slapped him on the back good-naturedly, Montini bowed in gratitude and Boots scooped up the deck.

"Now, Boots, please open them up and place the cards in the hat." As Boots did this, Montini removed a dark velvet pouch from his pocket. He reached into it and took out a pinch of powder, sprinkling it over the cards and whispering in his mother tongue again. The sky overhead blackened with threatening rain clouds.

"Now Boots, do you have a match?"

"Y…yeah, I do."

"Will you please light it?"

Boots hesitantly took out a match and struck it on the sole of his shoe.

"Now toss it into the hat, please."

"What?"

"HEY!" Race shouted angrily, close to climbing on stage.

"I can't do that, mister," Boots said.

"Trust me, please, young man," Montini appealed to Race. "You cannot hope to gain anything without risking something precious, yes?" Race didn't look convinced. "Take the gamble, kid," Montini added sagely.

That convinced him. Race sighed and crossed his arms.

"Everyone, I need you all to help with this trick. Each one of you needs to picture in your mind a shiny copper penny. Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and picture that penny as best you can." Slowly but surely, each person conceded and closed their eyes. Blink tried to push back the odd sensation of standing in the dark among a hundred others and struggled to focus on the penny.

There was the sound of fire, more unintelligible chanting, and a loud shout of "Open your eyes!" Blink did so and Montini whipped the top hat off the table, jerking it toward the crowd. Out poured hundreds of pennies, soaring over the heads of the people like a glittering mass of shooting stars. Everyone jumped up and leapt down and scrambled to grab at the coins.

And with a sudden explosion and a flourish of smoke and cape, Monsieur Montini disappeared. All that remained on stage was an awe-struck Boots, and an old pack of cards – Racetrack's, to be precise. The applause was thunderous. Race's mouth hung open until the cigarette fell out.

Blink laughed and clapped as loudly as the rest of them, shoving some pennies in his pocket. He looked over at Mush and was startled to find the boy not smiling, but pale and silenced.

"What's wrong, Mush? Mush? Ya alright, buddy?"

Barely audible, Mush tore his eyes from the stage and said, "That was the most amazin' thing I've ever seen." Blink laughed and slapped his friend on the back.

"Me too! Jesus himself couldn't 'a done it better!"

Staring not at Blink but through him, Mush seemed to be in his own little world. "…I wonder where he gone to? I just _gotta_ talk to him…"

Blink strained to hear over the din of the crowd. "What? Ya gotta talk to who?"

"…In me whole life, never seen anything like that…"

"Yeah, I know, Mush! And ya won't again until next year, probably!"

"Well then I gotta find 'im…" There was something strange in his speech, in his eyes – it was as if something had taken over Mush, something altered, something changed… it was excitement, and shock, and agitation.

The moderator had returned to the stage and was making the next introduction.

"For this next act we are having a contest; don't worry young lady! It's very simple. All you have to do is guess how many gumdrops are in this jar – is it dozens, is it hundreds? – and write it down on a slip of paper with your name. Put it in the box, and if you win you could get a copy of the book that's about to be read to all you lovely people!"

There was a murmuring in the crowd, and some people pushed in to add their guesses to the box. Blink saw Skittery, Dutchy and Specs talking quietly together and eyeing the jar with careful consideration. He looked from Mush to the show and back again.

"What're ya talkin' about? Whaddya gotta do?"

"I gotta find Montini!" Mush shouted seriously. "I gotta find out how he did it!"

A crack of lightning streaked across the sky, shortly followed by a clap of thunder. There were a few shrill cries from nervous children, and some people immediately went to seek shelter. Most stayed, however, as the rain had yet to drop.

"Mush, I don't understand ya," Blink went on, slightly perturbed by his friend's sudden change.

"…This is a chapter from Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_, ladies and gentleman, as read by local author—"

"Blink, I just figured it out. I just figured out what I want to do wit' the rest of me life!"

He would've thought Mush was kidding had he not looked so intensely earnest. "But we's only eighteen, Mush, and anyway that stuff is straight outta fairy tales," he joked. "Fairy tales and the Bible, not for a couple o' street rats like us."

Mush's face fell.

"…Remember, if you want to win this book, you've just got to guess how many gumdrops are in this jar…

"I ain't a street rat!" Mush gave Blink an angry shove; it wasn't very hard, but the act itself was so surprising Blink nearly fell over. "Or maybe I am, but I can be more 'an that!"

"…In this part of the novel, Dr. Frankenstein's monster has been haunting him and wreaking havoc on the lives of his loved ones—"

"But Mush, I ain't tryin' to insult ya, it's just that stuff takes years o' training, and c'mon, y'know ya can't be a _magician_—"

"Why not? Why do ya gotta say that, huh? Why can't I be a magician if I wanna?"

A man with a sharp suit and a thin mustache had begun reading, but some people broke their attention from the stage and were curiously glancing at the outburst.

Blink was startled. He was just trying to talk some sense into his friend; why couldn't Mush see that? Certainly they all had to get more adult jobs someday, but that included employment by factories or merchants or, if they were lucky, an office somewhere. It didn't include entertainment and performance opportunities – those were faraway dreams, nothing more.

"Look, Mush, I'm sure it takes people a lot cleverer than us to figure out tricks like that. I'm just bein' honest wit'cha, that's all—"

"Are ya gonna help me find Montini or what?" Mush demanded (and the city seemed to darken as he said this).

Blink felt his cheeks redden in frustration. "Mush, this is stupid, can't we just enjoy the show and stop arguin'?"

"'…_But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others, and intolerable to myself…'_"

Another thunderclap and the sky ripped open, unleashing a torrent of rain. Much of the crowd had now fled from the premises to get home, but those familiar with enduring the harshness of New York weather had no problem remaining.

Blink overheard Jack saying to Race with a nudge, "We've been through worse. Lot more 'an rain!" Race winked, throwing his soggy cigarette to the ground. "C'mon, let's go to—"

"Fine!" Mush's voice snapped Blink back to attention. "I'll do it without your help then."

"But Mush—!"

"Lemealone! I don't need ya!"

And with that, Mush was gone.

* * *

"I'm sorry, ladies and gentleman, but until the rain ceases, I'm afraid we have to stop the show. But before you go, let us announce the winner of the contest…"

"C'mon, Specs, how many?"

"I—I think it might be fifty-seven, but then again it could be as much as seventy-five…"

Skittery tapped his foot impatiently. "They're about to open the box. Put _somethin'_ down already!"

Specs bit his lip, scribbled something and folded the piece of paper in half. Dutchy grabbed it and threw it into the box right as the moderator picked it up to unlock it. A man to his left sifted through the tickets until he found the correct answer.

"And the winner is…"

The three held their breath in anticipation.

"David Jacobs!"

The three released their breath at once.

"Yes, the answer was one hundred and three – congratulations, David! You get this leather-bound copy of _Frankenstein_ and the entire jar of gumdrops!"

"David!" they cried in disbelief. But sure enough, there appeared David Jacobs with young Les in tow to receive the reward. Les grasped the jar of candy happily and David tucked the book into his jacket to keep it dry.

"Oh, hey guys," he said in surprise.

"…Now, I'm going to have to ask everyone to go and seek shelter from the storm, please leave the area safely…"

"Don't 'hey guys' us," Skittery replied, stepping toward David menacingly and poking him in the chest. Rain ran down his nose and into his mouth as he spoke. "We've been spendin' the last fifteen minutes tryin' to win that damned book—"

"Skitts, c'mon, he won it fair and square—"

"Yeah, it was my fault, Skitts. I guessed wrong, David guessed right, s'okay—"

David looked extremely taken aback by all of this.

"I, uh, don't exactly get what's going on here, but…" David furrowed his eyebrows. "Skittery, I want you to know that I _would_ give you the book, but it's my dad's birthday this week and I know he'd really like this, so…"

"Why don't ya just give it to them, David?" Les asked, squinting against the rain. "Ya can buy a copy for cheap."

"I'm saying I _would_, if it wasn't for Pa, but… Look, we're getting soaking wet out here, we've gotta go home—"

"Don't worry about it, Davey," Specs insisted, a hand on Skittery's shoulder.

"Then do you want my candy?" Les held out the jar to Skittery. Dutchy pushed his glasses back up on his nose, though he couldn't see through them because of the water.

"I'll have a piece or two," he said.

"I just wanted to win it – the book – so I could help Skitts and some of the others learn how to read better, y'know," Specs continued. "I thought if they had somethin' other than newspapers they might be more interested, but…"

"Oh, hey, that's a really good idea, and you guys can borrow it any time you want." David swallowed guiltily and gave a weak smile.

"Forget it," Skittery said shortly, grabbing a handful of gumdrops. "I just wanted the candy anyway. Thanks, kid." He gave Les a pat on the head, shoved the sweets in his mouth and walked away.

"I really am sorry, Skittery!" David called after him. The boy just waved his hand flippantly. Specs and Dutchy shrugged and joined him, saying goodbye to the other two as they did so.

"C'mon, we're gonna catch pneumonia." David grabbed Les by his jacket and tugged him along.

"I don't see why ya couldn't just give it to 'em," Les muttered.

"Oh, I suppose you bought Pa a present already then? Because we could give away that jar if you've got something else in mind."

Les clutched the candy to his chest. "No, I'm givin' him this."

"That's what I thought. Y'know, it's not like I'm making any more money than they are. I need a hand-out when I can get it just as much as they do." David paused, then added, "And why is he allowed to call you 'kid'? You snapped at me yesterday when I said it."

"Because Skittery says it different than you do."

David rolled his eyes. "How does he say it differently?"

Les shrugged David's hand off his coat. "I dunno! He just does! You say it like I'm some stupid kid and he says it wit' respect!"

And he ran off.

* * *

The gears in Blink's brain were turning fast as he witnessed this scene. He easily intercepted Les as he tried to run past him, lifting his flailing feet off the ground.

"Woah there, Les. Where ya goin'?"

"I'm tryin' to get by!" The boy swung his limbs around until Blink put him back down.

"Hey, we's all tryin' to get by. Thought a smart kid like you'd know that."

This shut him up. His back straightened and he stuck out his chin a little. "I am smart."

"I know ya are. I remember what it was like bein' ten – ya start learnin' about the world, but people don't take ya seriously enough to really teach ya. Right?"

Les wiped his face with his near-soaked sleeve. "I guess so."

"Didja get in a fight with David?" He nodded. "Ya wanna walk with me for awhile? Cool down?"

Les paused in thought, then nodded again with a smile. Blink motioned to David in the distance, indicating it would be okay and he'd return the boy safely. He could barely see anymore from the rain, but he took it David got the message. It was ridiculous trying to even hold a conversation over the noise of water pummeling cobblestone.

"Okay then, first things first: let's get outta this mess."

"Good idea."

"Y'know, we're not that far from Medda's. Maybe she'll let us hang out, dry off."

"Yeah!"

And so they went to Medda's.

* * *

For her age (and none of the newsies had a clue as to what that age was), Medda was still quite a beautiful woman. She was a picture in pink, a vision in violet, a sight in satin. She was kind to the rank and file that constantly filled her theatre; she was motherly and gentle to those who needed it most.

But a girl is still a girl, no matter how old, and when two young men have just gotten into separate arguments with their closest friends in the world, the last thing they needed was the squawking and fawning of the other sex.

There was much fluttering of eyelashes, sashaying of skirts and smothering of kisses before the two were able to just sit and think about their situation for a minute. She handed them both some towels and suggested they take a stroll backstage if they had any desire (and she knew they did) to catch some of the show before going on their way. And with a reminder to Toby to "Give them whatever they like," she fled back to the limelight.

Blink shook any excess rainwater from his dirty blonde hair and smoothed it down as best he could. He glanced over at Les; he had taken out the silver hoops from the magic show and was vehemently trying to pull them apart. Blink smiled.

"Say, ya got the Monsieur's rings?" he asked, feigning surprise.

"Sure did," Les grunted, giving them another violent tug. The metal didn't even bend, just remained "as hard as rock" as the girl had claimed earlier.

"Pretty nifty trick, eh?"

"Yep."

Blink nodded and was unsure which way to approach his request. In fact, he wasn't sure what his request _was_, exactly, if he even had one. Could he really ask Les to give up the rings?

"So you and Mush got in a fight too?" Les asked suddenly, still inspecting the rings with a quizzical air. Now Blink didn't have to feign surprise; he was genuinely amazed.

"How didja know?"

"I saw him push ya. Looked like he was yellin' but I couldn't hear over the storm. Then he ran away and, well. You looked kinda sad I guess."

The tone of his voice and the manner in which he spoke was so candid that Blink realized how down he was truly feeling about the whole thing. He hadn't meant to deflate Mush's pipe dream; he just felt like maybe it was better to face reality than spend time wallowing in a reverie. When you did things like that, you tended to miss the good stuff right in front of you – or so Blink reasoned.

"So what did you guys fight about, anyway?" Les asked, finally giving up on Montini's ring puzzle.

"Um… well, Mush really liked the magic show – I mean, more than anybody else in the whole place, I bet. He _really_ liked it. And he said that he had 'figured it out' and wanted to become a magician."

"Figured what out?"

"His dream, I guess. Y'know, what he wants to be when he's too old to be sellin' papes."

"Oh. That sounds like a good idea." Les scratched the back of his head and inspected something that lay beneath a dusty blanket. "What didja fight over then?"

"Well, I mean… I just don't think it's, uh… realistic, I guess is the word. He don't know nothin' about magic, and, well, yeah. That's it. He don't know nothin' about magic."

Les looked at him. "But he could learn."

Blink covered his face with his hands in frustration. Was the world taking crazy pills or something? "Of course he _could_ learn," he said through gritted teeth, "but where'd he get the money? He'd have to buy the things you do the tricks with – like rings and a wand and magic powder and stuff – and a book that showed him how to use the things to do the tricks, and he'd have to learn how to read good before he could even use the book at all, and he'd have to get good enough to _get paid to do them_ for a bunch o' people givin' up their money to see him do a bunch o' lousy tricks, and it just seems like a lot of money and time and things we ain't got." He was panting a little, but punctuated the speech by clapping his hands together firmly.

Les paused to think this over. "Yeah, but… isn't that what we all need to do what we wanna do?" he said slowly.

"Huh?"

"Time and money and hard work. That's why they're our dream jobs – otherwise we'd be doin' them already. Right?"

"Right, I guess, but—"

"So it'll take awhile, and y'know, maybe it won't ever happen, but without tryin' – and without the dream – then, I guess, he'd never have a chance at all of doin' somethin' that makes him happy."

After a long, long moment of silence, Blink slapped his knees and laughed in spite of himself. "You _is_ a smart kid!" he declared, ruffling the boy's hair with affection.

Les smiled and shrugged, secretly proud of himself. "Told ya."

Toby, dressed in clown make-up and carrying a tray of sweets, suddenly waltzed in, dabbing his forehead with a sweaty handkerchief.

"Heya boys, want some candy? We got licorice whips, gumdrops—"

Blink suddenly got an idea. "Say Toby, you's a clown, right?"

Toby lowered the tray so Les could fill his pockets. "Yeah. Well, used to be. Now I'm more of a stagehand."

"But do ya know other clowns that work around here?"

"I know plenty of performers," Toby said in his low, gravelly voice. "Not enough of 'em ladies."

Blink ignored this. "You ever heard of a guy by the name of Monsieur Montini? The magician?"

"Sure. He's pretty good – knows how to work a crowd, all right."

"Do ya know where I could find him?"

Toby scratched his chin and squinted at him. Blink wasn't sure if he was just trying to remember, or was for whatever reason suspicious of Blink's intentions, but it didn't really matter.

"Yeah, I know where you can find him," he said finally.

* * *

"You sure this is it?" Blink asked skeptically, wishing the rain would lighten up for even a minute. Les glanced at the piece of paper again and nodded.

"This is the address he gave us, anyway."

Blink bit his lip and looked up at the faded sign that read in large, spirally letters: CURLY'S.

"Alright then. Let's go – but before I forget, don't tell your parents. The last thing I need is your ma huntin' me down with a fryin' pan aimed at my head."

"Don't worry about it," Les waved him off.

Blink shrugged, hitched up his pants, and entered the tavern. Les mimicked his actions exactly and followed suit.

The pub wasn't very large, but it was pretty seedy looking and it was certainly full of people. Blink didn't want to take very long surveying their surroundings – not with Les in tow. Besides, he had to take one task at a time. He strolled up to the bar.

"Hold onto my jacket and don't let go," he commanded. Les looked reluctant at first but, after nearly being knocked down by a stumbling drunkard, did as he was told.

It was especially crowded around the bar and Blink had to squeeze in between two rather scantily clad women just to see the bartender's face. Though the poor light cast dark black circles beneath his eyes, and there was no cape, or jeweled rings, or top hat, and the gold teeth didn't look so impressive now – sure enough, it was Montini. He was entertaining the rowdy group by doing the One Dollar trick he'd done earlier at the fair – this time, however, it was the drunks offering up their money just to see it done again and again (and to get another drink while you're at it, thanks).

"Excuse—I'm sorry, miss—uh, excuse me! Montini?" Blink shouted, fighting to be heard over the racket.

Montini looked over at him without recognition, but a grin appeared beneath his mustache. "That's my name, One-Eye. What can I getcha?"

Blink tried to ignore the missing foreign accent and manner of speaking that had previously wowed him. "I don't wanna drink, thanks, I just—Les, stay close—I just wanna talk to ya, if I can? Just for a minute?"

"I'm workin' kid," was the gruff response, and he turned back to his customers.

"Please? I just wanna ask you one or two questions—" He could see he was no longer being heard, although the women on either side of him were leaning in.

"Yer a bit young, aintcha?" one of them said, reeking heavily of ale.

"Young an' pretty," said the other, running a hand from his wrist up to his shoulder. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry, and shrugged her off.

"OH!" the first one shrieked, catching sight of Les. She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him toward her while Les struggled to hold onto his prized jar of candy. "Look at this cute little thing! Yer so cute I could just—"

"Hey, HEY!" Blink yelled, furiously yanking Les back. "Leggo of him!"

"Aw, look how protective he is…" the other murmured in his ear, pushing her body firmly against his.

"Get yer hands off me, lady—and don't you touch him!" He pulled himself free from the two and turned to Les. "Quick, gimme the rings." The boy looked a little startled by it all but managed to hand them over.

"Hey, Montini! I got somethin' o' yours!" Blink proclaimed loudly, slapping the rings down on the bar. This finally got the man's attention (along with the rest of the bar's). "Please – just two minutes, 'at's all I ask."

After a moment, Montini sighed and nodded at a seated man counting cash in the far corner. "Hey Curly! Do me a favor and cover me. Won't take a second."

* * *

It took approximately a minute and twenty seconds for Blink to spill his dilemma out before Montini, and now he waited anxiously for the man to break the silence that had settled afterward.

"Y'know," Montini said finally, stroking his chin and staring at something just above Blink's head, "I meant what I said today, on the stage." Blink was about to ask for a refresher, but Montini didn't give him the chance. "I may not be the man you saw up there – I don't talk the same way, dress the same way, act the same way – but who I am when I'm The Monsieur, that's a part o' me. And it's a part o' me that took years of workin' on, and years of workin' at this lousy joint."

"That's what I said," Les piped up. They looked at him, and he looked back. "I mean, about it takin' years of hard work, y'know."

Montini laughed, and suddenly he seemed to slip into his other persona. The accent reappeared – not as heavy, but present nonetheless – and his eyes brightened. He turned back to Blink. "You say magic is not for the street rats, but you're wrong, young man. It is more for the street rats than it is for the richest men in this city."

Blink snorted. "I don't getcha."

"It is for those who _believe_, those who believe and those alone. And the big men – the Pulitzers and the Hearsts – they don't believe in magic, they believe in money and business and profit and loss. And so the street rats, the ones with nothing to lose and everything to gain – they are the ones who believe in magic, who create the magic and hold onto it tightly."

Les and Blink exchanged glances (this guy is out of his mind).

"When I was sixteen, I worked my hands bloody on the waterfront, loading and unloading heavy crates and driving away the rats." Montini held up his hands, displaying the numerous scars and calluses. "I asked myself: is this it? And one day I decided I wouldn't let it be that way forever. So a couple times a month I'd skip meals and spend my hard-earned money on books about magic, props and tools, practicing the tricks until late hours of the night. And I got good. I got good until I got paid to do it – but even now, I get paid so little I still have to work here five nights a week. Long hours, too."

"Sounds like a lotta work for not so much."

"And again you are wrong, and I fear you do not believe in magic so much." The accent had returned full-force now, and there was a fire burning in Montini's eyes. He leaned closer to Blink and clasped both his shoulders. "Young man, I meant what I said on stage today. I told the people, I told them – 'I cannot do this without your help. I need your faith for the trick to work.' And it is true, _it is true_. I need the faith of the people, and your friend has it. So I say a few made-up words, I make flowers appear and disappear, and maybe it seems silly to you when I say that. But when I lit up your face – yes, I remember you – when I lit up your face today with a flick of the wrist and a shower of pennies, then… well, that gives me great satisfaction. I become someone to somebody, and maybe I spark a little magic in a person like your friend."

Blink didn't really know what to say. There was a lot of fancy talk in this guy's speech, but he couldn't help but feel there was some truth in there, too. He still didn't fully understand the desire to be a magician, but if it was what Mush wanted…

"Hey mister? Can ya show me how to get these rings apart, please?" Les held out the props in question and Montini laughed again.

"For you, young man, anything."

* * *

The rain had finally passed and the night was clear. Blink looked up at David's building, trying to remember what it was like having a family and a home where you didn't have to pay in order to get a bed. Pretty nice, he would imagine.

"Hey, Blink?"

He returned his attention to Les who had paused in the doorframe.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for, y'know, talkin' to me and takin' me to a grown-up's place and not treatin' me like a kid."

Blink laughed. "S'no problem, Les. I liked havin' the company. And somethin' tells me Davey didn't mean nothin' by what he said, so go easy on 'im. Okay?"

He seemed to be thinking it over. "Okay. But he still can't call me 'kid.'" Les turned to go in, but then stopped and scuttled back down the stoop. "Here, give Mush these and show 'im how they work." He handed Blink the rings.

"But, they're yours—"

"It's okay, my hands are two small to do it right anyway." And he ran inside, shutting the door behind him.

Blink smiled to himself (kids, sheesh!) and ran his fingers over the silver hoops. All this excitement over curved metal… the world was a funny sort of place.

"Hey! Hey, Blink!" he heard a voice shout down the street. "Blink, is that you?"

"Hey guys," he answered with a grin as Specs, Skittery and Dutchy bounded up to him. "How's it goin'?"

"Spent the better part of the day hidin' out from the rain," Dutchy said, doing a few dance steps in a mud puddle.

"And sense Kloppman ain't chargin' us lodging today," Specs added, "we pooled our money together and got this." He removed a paperback from his pocket entitled _The Count of Monte Cristo_. It was yellowed with age and had stains on the edges, but the cover had a colorful picture that caught Blink's eye.

"It's an adventure book!" Skittery declared, then checked his enthusiasm and added quickly and quietly, "Specs is, uh—gonna teach me—_us_—how to read better."

Blink nodded and smiled. "Sounds good, count me in. Oh, and Mush too, I know he's gonna want to know some bigger words. Did I tell you guys? He's gonna learn how to do magic tricks, just like at the show today." He revealed the rings and their faces lit up in recognition. "S-say, you guys haven't, um, seen him lately, have ya?"

"Yeah, he's back at the lodging house." Specs pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and inspected one of the hoops. "Guess we got a lot of work ahead of us. I don't know any of the terms magicians use…"

"Seriously Blink? Mush's gonna learn how to put them rings together?" Dutchy asked, clearly impressed.

"You bet. And lots more, too. O'course, it'll take awhile, but y'know, these things is worth it."

Skittery nodded and clapped Blink on the back. "Sure. We all gotta have somethin' to look forward to, I guess."

And as they made their way back to the lodging house, Blink realized that the bright smile on his friend's face was all he needed to look forward to – it was all he needed and more.

* * *

_Author's Note: Happy Belated Birthday, **studentnumber24601**! May Blink and Mush mate on your pillow._

_If this story seemed at all far-fetched, unrealistic or fantastical – GOOD. I wrote a fairy tale so Blink could start believing in them a little. (If it seemed perfectly believable and grounded in realism, however, then that's good too, I suppose.)_

_EDIT: And many thanks to **Oxymoronic Alliteration** for catching one or two ridiculous spelling errors on my part!_


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